"It won't stand much of a sea, I fear. This attachment to the Aircraft was intended for pleasant weather."
"All right; the weather's delightful. Those long, gentle rolls will merely rock us to sleep. And—Oh, Ris!—we'll have rolls for breakfast."
"Do be serious, Syb! Suppose a storm catches us before morning?"
"Then please wake me up. Where do you suppose we are, anyhow?"
"I've no idea," answered Orissa, soberly. "We must have traveled a couple of hundred miles, but it wasn't in a straight line, by any means. Let's see. Perhaps a hundred miles on our first course—over Sealskin Island and nearly south—then forty or fifty miles north——"
"Oh, no; west."
"Yes; so it was. Then twenty-odd miles south, ten miles or so east, a couple or three miles west again, and then—and then——"
"Dear me! Don't bother your head with it, Orissa. We zigzagged like a drunken man. The only fact we can positively nail is that we were getting farther away from home—or our friends, rather—every minute. That's a bad thing, come to think of it. They'll never know where to search for us."
"True," responded Orissa. "But I am sure they will search, and search diligently, so we must manage to keep afloat until they find us. What shall we do now, Sybil?"